Major Attraction

by Julie Miller

  “Are you kidding?” J.C. sank into the chair opposite him, cradling the corsage box in her lap. Her father had been transferred every year or two, but she and her mother had always remained cocooned in their own little world in Southern California. She couldn’t imagine pulling up roots so often. Of course, maybe Ethan never put down roots in the first place.

  “I wanted to see the world. The Corps obliged.”

  A girl in every port. Had Ethan broken hearts on all five of those continents? Had he found the female company a healthy man like him would crave in each of those countries? J.C. set aside her pending disappointment. This was research, right? “Didn’t you ever get…lonely?”

  “I missed my family, sure. But they were all on the move, too, until my dad retired and my sister, Caitie, went to college and got married. I had a job to do. A job I loved. I’ve met people and seen things in this world that most folks never even read about. There’s beauty out there, and crazy stuff, and…” His matter-of-fact explanation halted abruptly, as if an unbidden thought had caught him unaware. “I used to love experiencing different cultures firsthand. I couldn’t wait to see what challenge the world would throw at me next.”

  “Used to?”

  “Some days I think I’ve seen more than a man should have to.”

  His hushed voice and distant focus triggered an unexpected pang of sympathy. It was probably the counselor in her, sensing a troubled soul that needed to talk. But it was the woman in her who leaned forward and touched his knee. “Did something happen?”

  Ethan’s gray eyes darkened and nailed her as if she’d trespassed into a place she wasn’t welcome. It was the first glimpse of strong emotion she’d seen in him, and the depth of it was as powerful as every other part of him. Ethan shot to his feet, breaking contact with her, stalking to the window and staring out toward the sunset. “Is this the get-acquainted part of the evening, where we offer a crash course in each other’s lives and share our darkest secrets?”

  It was also the first glint of sarcasm she’d heard in his cursed-with-honesty voice.

  J.C. rose more slowly and followed him, matching his position but keeping the width of the window between them. “I’m not prying into your secrets, Ethan. But if you need to, I’m willing to listen. I’m actually pretty good at that.”

  “I fought in a war, Jo.” She took note that in this outflux of pain and anger, he’d used a shortened, personalized form of her name. She angled her head to study his profile. That square jaw was set tight, defiant, battling for control over whatever memory had spooked him. “I guarded embassies in countries where Americans weren’t exactly popular. I’ve lost buddies and men whose lives I was responsible for. People took advantage…” He caught himself and snapped his mouth shut. “Yeah. Stuff happened.” He swiveled his head and looked down at her, capturing her with his eyes and holding her prisoner in their shadowy depths. “I don’t know what kind of therapist you are, but that’s not what I need from you.”

  His solution to handling all that stuff was to keep it bottled up inside? Did he detach himself from his personal life so he could survive his professional one? She’d seen things on the news which were disturbing enough to give anyone nightmares. To actually live through the horrors of war, though, to endure the violence and omnipresent threat of danger in a job such as Ethan’s, must change a man inside. He would guard his thoughts, turn off his emotions. Trust would be hard to earn. Actions would come more easily than words.

  All of which fit Ethan to a T.

  Was that where his intense sexual energy came from? Was it the one outlet of free expression he allowed himself?

  J.C. chose her next words carefully. “I wasn’t speaking as a therapist, Ethan. I know all you need from me is two weeks of acting like you’re the love of my life and pretending I understand what it means to want to marry a Marine and take on this life you’re describing to me. Which, to be honest, you’re not selling me on.”

  The blunt reminder shocked him out of his anger. A muscle in his jaw twitched, then relaxed. “J.C…. Hell, there’s good stuff, too.” Back to J.C. Back on guard. “Lifelong friendships. A sense of community. The value of self-discipline, the adrenaline rush of meeting tough challenges. Feeling—on most days—like you’re doing a good thing.”

  “Now you sound like a recruitment brochure.”

  He almost laughed at that. Almost, but not quite. “I didn’t mean to dump on you like that.”

  His definition of dumping had barely glossed the surface, she suspected. “I’m sorry if I hit a touchy subject. But, we do need to know something about each other before we meet your general.”

  “I know. But that’s no excuse for snapping at you.”

  “You’re just nervous about tonight.”

  He nodded. When he turned and faced her, he said something completely unexpected. “You make me nervous.”

  “Me?”

  “This is a turning point in my career, a chance to get on the fast track to making top brass, to pass on my wisdom and experience to the next generation of the Corps. But all I can think about is how much I want to kiss you again.”

  With the tip of one gloved finger, he reached over and toyed with the long filigree earring that dangled against her neck. It was just a whisper of a touch, tickling her earlobe and sending shivers along her neck that danced across her skin and pricked goose bumps. J.C. caught a stuttered breath as he traced the same path with the tip of his finger, grazing her collarbone, then running out across her shoulder until he met a ribbon of strap. It was like drawing silk across all those sensitized nerve endings, only this silk was warm and strong, and the pulse beneath it beat in rapid time with her own.

  J.C.’s lips parted, giving herself room to breathe, urging the heat to gather someplace besides the beading tips of her breasts. This was one of those familiar touches that every real couple shared, one of those touches she and Ethan seemed to have no problem faking. Her lips popped in a wishful smack as she forced herself to speak. “Kissing me makes you nervous?”

  That white-gloved finger curled into its fist, and Ethan drew his hand back to his side, denying her the magical caress. “Sounds like involvement to me. And I promised there wouldn’t be any tie-up’s at the end of this arrangement.”

  J.C. was flattered, flustered, when she turned to face him. “Sounds like hormones to me. And I’m relieved I’m not the only one who can’t keep them in line.”

  “Right. Hormones.” Ethan’s tongue darted out to moisten the rim of his lips.

  J.C. followed the movement with hungry interest but refused to take the action they both craved. “I’ll make you a deal. We’ll talk about kissing and other…opportunities…later. You said to think about how I wanted to be compensated for helping you, and I’ve got an idea. If you’re up for it.” He narrowed his eyes, questioning the double entendre in her tone. J.C. coyly left him hanging. She stepped forward with another one of those proprietary touches and brushed a speck from his sleeve. “This evening, you and I are just going to focus on that promotion of yours.”

  With that promise, Ethan finally seemed to relax as much as a man with his shoulders perennially arched back at near attention could. “But we will talk about those opportunities later?”

  J.C. smiled like seduction itself. “Oh, I’ll insist on it.”

  “Did you take a tumble?” Ethan gently snagged her wrist as she pulled away and pointed out the deep, blue-violet bruise on her forearm where Corporal Guerro’s thumb had nearly cut off the circulation in her arm that morning.

  Though he conveyed nothing but curiosity and a touch of concern, frissons of alarm cascaded through her, interrupting the fluid heat growing inside her at the hushed, private banter she’d been sharing with Ethan. It was definitely bad karma to think of Guerro right now, in the middle of getting personal with Ethan.

  She made light of the injury, pulling away to glance at it as if it was no big deal. “I bumped it against my desk at work.”

  “That
’s a mean desk.”

  Juan Guerro was a mean man when he was drunk, or hungover the next morning. “I taught it a lesson.” She made up an amusing cover story. “I tossed my coaster and left a water ring stain on it.” She quickly changed the subject, opening the corsage box again and unleashing its scent and all the possibilities it conjured. She pulled the creamy flower out and held it up between them. “Will you do the honors?”

  His gaze darted from her shoulders to her breasts and back up to her eyes. “I’m not sure where—”

  “Relax, Major. It’s a wrist corsage. You just slip it on.” And cover the bruise. Out of sight, out of mind. And no more questions until the timing was right to broach the subject of Juan and Manny’s punishment.

  “Shall we?” Ethan turned and offered his arm. “Our limo awaits.”

  “You splurged on a limousine?”

  “Another one of Captain Black’s suggestions,” Ethan admitted. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Sounds like a great idea.” J.C. pulled up her skirt and revealed her bare, painted toes. “But if we’re going first class, I’d better go pry my feet into some shoes.”

  “Ouch.” He grimaced in sympathy to her high-heeled plight.

  She nudged the jut of his chin as she walked past him. “I’m making the sacrifice for you, big guy.”

  He grabbed her hand, stopping her in a rustle of silk and organza, and turning her back to face him. “Thank you. For everything.”

  Good God, if he didn’t stop looking at her like that, they would never get out of the apartment. “Maybe you’d better wait and see how I do tonight before you thank me.”

  7

  “GENERAL CRADDOCK, are you flirting with me?” J.C. asked, leaning back against the older gentleman’s arm as he swept her around the dance floor in an old-fashioned waltz.

  “Now, now, Miss Gardner, I thought I told you to call me Walter.”

  J.C. batted her eyes with false innocence. “But you make Ethan call you sir or General.”

  “Ethan’s just one of the men under my command. You will find out, my dear, that being a Marine Corps spouse has certain privileges.” He leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper, never missing a step. “Mrs. Craddock has been reminding me of that for over thirty years.”

  J.C. laughed as they spun into the crowd of dancers waltzing their way in a counterclockwise circle around the room. Despite pushing sixty, his shiny bald pate and his lovely wife, Brigadier General Walter Craddock considered himself quite the ladies’ man. He was light on his feet, quick-witted, and he’d danced with every woman seated at his table at least once. Though Millie, his wife, had had the honor of the first dance, the general seemed more inclined to entertain his guests than to spend time with her or even the four promotion candidates.

  This was J.C.’s second dance with the general, and she was honest enough to admit she was enjoying herself. The dinner had been delicious, the dessert decadent, the company interesting, and the orchestra’s music—well, she’d already danced with an ambassador, a doctor and, of course, the general. She loved the beat of the music pulsing through her body. She loved the swirl of her petticoats brushing against her legs, and the soft lights glimmering in the iridescent material of her gown. She loved the endorphic high of rhythmic exercise and intelligent conversation.

  Amidst all the uniforms and gowns and tuxes, she felt like a regular Cinderella. Except the Prince Charming who’d brought her to the ball in his long, black carriage wasn’t dancing with her. Hadn’t asked her to. Had turned down her invitation twice and opted to fetch a drink for Millie Craddock and chat with a retired master gunnery sergeant who’d served with his father instead.

  Ethan was sending her a message she didn’t want to receive. His business with the Corps—scoring points, schmoozing with the top brass—was more important than their personal relationship.

  Even though they didn’t really have a personal relationship.

  J.C. frowned at the tentacles of hurt and disillusionment trying to get a grip around her heart. She and Ethan both had made it very clear that they didn’t want a relationship. But the sting of disappointment she was feeling couldn’t seem to grasp the logic of that.

  “…background in the military yourself, Miss Gardner?”

  She nearly stumbled as Walter Craddock’s question jerked her from her little pity party. But the general’s steady arm, as well as his surprising patience, kept the dance moving smoothly. She quickly replayed the words only her subconscious mind had heard and came up with an appropriate response. “Me? Serve in the military? No, thanks. I mean, I’m glad you and your men and women are there to do their job, but it’s not for me. I have too hard a time taking orders.”

  Craddock laughed at the joke, but grew serious again just as quickly. “Sometimes, it’s a hell of a lot harder to give an order, J.C.”

  He nodded toward the banquet tables beyond the edge of the dance floor. Ethan, standing almost a head taller than anyone else in the circle, chatted with a group of officers. Some days I think I’ve seen more than a man should have to.

  “Are you talking about Ethan?”

  The general nodded. “A few years back, your fiancé was on a detail guarding an embassy setup crew in the capital of one of our newer Central American allies. Hell, they were a skeleton team just moving in themselves. Rebel forces, backed by a local drug cartel, attacked with a car bomb before dawn and tried to lay siege to the place. Local authorities weren’t in a position to help. Armored support was at least twenty-four hours away.

  “Being the ranking officer with a crisis on his hands, Ethan ordered a counterattack to rescue injured troops and help the civilians escape. He lost two men to sniper fire before the rest of the team broke through the perimeter and neutralized the enemy.”

  This time, J.C. did miss a step. “Oh, my God.”

  The couple dancing behind them bumped into J.C.’s back. Fielding an apology, General Craddock pulled her into his chest and spun her out of the path of the next group of dancers. “Ethan and his team saved nearly one hundred lives that day. But it’s the two you lose who stay with you.”

  She stared at the two stars adorning Walter Craddock’s shoulders, hearing the melodic strains of music as a distant, discordant noise in the back of her mind. Stuff happened. Ethan McCormick, master control freak, was a wizard at understatement.

  Despite the press of bodies and almost continuous dancing, a chill crept down J.C.’s spine. She cared that Ethan and the other Marines in his unit had suffered that day. She ached for the families who had lost their loved ones in the line of duty.

  Her gaze strayed back to the taut, proud shoulders of the Marine who’d asked her to be his fiancée for the next two weeks. Whatever burdens Ethan carried, he hid them well. He hadn’t asked for her help in coping with any of them. Still, she couldn’t get past the idea that Ethan needed to talk. That he needed to be held. Or, in his archaic notion that sex was the only way he could express himself freely, he needed to get laid.

  The chill of compassion turned into something much less altruistic. A frisson of anticipation. A call to duty. The tingling excitement of destiny waiting to be fulfilled.

  She was more determined than ever to offer Ethan all the freedom of expression he could handle. After all, she’d learned that good sex could be a great stress reliever. And if there was any way she could help…

  Walter lifted her chin with the tip of his finger. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring down the mood of the party. I don’t suppose Ethan talks much about his heroics.”

  “No, I’m glad to learn more about him.” J.C. held tight to the general’s gloved hand and followed along as he urged her to complete the waltz with him. She hoped she hadn’t revealed her thoughts with a hungry look or wistful smile. “Ethan’s pretty quiet when it comes to talking about himself.” She cocked a teasing brow and changed the topic. “But I guess that also makes him the kind of man who can keep a secret for you.”

  “I have
no doubts that Major McCormick is trustworthy and loyal as they come. But then I suspect you already know that.”

  Her ideas of trust and loyalty had been skewed by her father’s self-absorption and infidelities. But, for a military man, she supposed Ethan was about as reliable as they came. “He’s the best Marine I know,” J.C. answered glibly, pleased that she could tell General Craddock the truth.

  “Present company excepted?” he teased.

  “Of course.” She smiled right back.

  “Say, I didn’t get a chance to follow up on my original question. What about your family? Any of them in the service?”

  Compassion, anticipation and good humor all stalled behind a wall of resentment. Not this topic! But J.C. kept her feet moving and her mouth smiling. “My father was in the Navy. Enlisted out of high school. I’m sure he and my mom never went to any fancy functions like this.”

  The general surveyed the room, shaking his head. “It is a little over the top, isn’t it?” J.C. thought she’d skirted the issue and could steer the conversation back to Ethan and one of the topics they had familiarized themselves with on the limo ride to the ball. Hobbies. Siblings. Favorite foods. Birth dates. Favorite holiday. But General Craddock had a sharp ear for details. “You said was. Your father isn’t a career man, then?”

  “I think he served about twenty years.” And dozens of women. “After my parents divorced, he and I sort of lost track—”

  The last strains of the music ended in a round of applause, offering J.C. a natural reprieve from delving too deeply into the fact she hadn’t heard from Earl Gardner in two whole years, hadn’t seen him in five, hadn’t hugged him in ten. She and the general separated and added their praise for the orchestra.

  The woodwinds trilled the beginning of a modern tune. “This one’s definitely not my style. Do you mind?” General Craddock offered her an apologetic smile and escorted her back to their table. “Maybe you could get that major of yours to take you around on this one.”